


Give a Little Time to Me, We'll Play Hide and Seek

by jojothecr



Series: CCMAwards [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Open Marriage, strange style of writing be warned, written in 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Critics' Choice Movie Awards</strong> / <em>"I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://i1271.photobucket.com/albums/jj623/j2aday/Jsquared/BeLTUjRIMAAPJ5f_zpsa1bd1c74.jpg) photo

The ride back to the hotel passes in silence, loud silence now when all the screaming and clapping, the constant ‘Look here’ ‘Look there’ ‘Don’t move’ is gone, replaced by the quiet rumble of the limousine engine.

Jensen’s hand is warm in hers, calloused in places, a solid proof of his presence even as he’s staring out into the night, even as his mind wanders, not too far, but away from her.

Even Jared sitting across from her is quiet, unnaturally so, both his suit jacket and the vest beneath unbuttoned, tie undone, hanging loosely around his neck. A gentleman gone, more of Sam Winchester sitting there. He looks tired, sad, alone without Genevieve, lonely beside them. She keeps catching his eyes land on Jensen’s averted face, the elegant line of his neck, his lips, on their joined hands. She understands, knows too well how he feels, what, and how long he’s felt it. She watches him, studies him as he watches her husband, a man they’ve known for nearly the same amount of time, wanted equally so. She knows, has always known, regarded them both throughout the years, trying to make it all work, create families and be happy with their choices, succeeding, too, but not completely. Some things just cannot be ignored, can’t be hidden behind wedding rings and public appearances, behind proud daddies’ smiles and all the vows and promises they’ve made. These things are persistent, inaudible, but the more obvious. They make her want to scream.

They part in front of the door of Jared’s hotel room, white wood with golden number of 303, wish each other a good night, and she tries to pretend that she doesn’t notice that their hug lasts a beat or two too long. Or how wrongly intimate it looks.

A few minutes later, she sends a short text message to Jared’s wife. “Okay.” it says, nothing more, and it in no way captures what she really feels, how sick it makes her, how liberated at the same time.

 

She kicks off her shoes and browses her baggage for something more comfortable, jeans and a t-shirt, flip flops, struggles to keep the tears at bay. She’s not supposed to cry, she doesn’t have any reason for that. Does she?

She lifts her eyes to look at him, standing at the window with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, a lollipop dangling from his mouth. It makes him look like a little boy, a kid in his dad’s clothes, unnaturally serious, so goddamn gorgeous. She feels guilty for what she wants to say, to even suggest, he has no idea. Still… “Jensen, I need… to talk to you.”

Jensen startles, snapping out of his thoughts and back into her reality, and turns around, thrown by the tone of her voice. He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, frowns. “Okay?” His voice is nervous, hesitant. So small. He expects the worst, she wonders what that is.

Danneel heaves a sigh and sits down at the edge of the king-sized bed, folding her hands in her lap. “Look, I’ve been… thinking and truth is, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Ca-can’t do wh-what? What are you… talking about?”

“I’m talking… I’m talking about you and Jared.”

“Me and Jared?” he echoes, sounding breathy, shocked. “There’s no ‘me and Jared’.”

“Please.”

“I… I honestly don’t know.”

“All the whispering? The… the constant touching? You really aren’t aware of those? I mean, all the looks tonight alone...” She stands up, now almost in level with his eyes. “I thought it stopped.”

“It did!” Jensen insists, his tone low, pleading. “You know it did.” The lollipop hangs between his fingers, like a half burnt out cigarette, a habit he’s picked as a substitution for the poisoning smoke. For JJ.

She sighs, stepping closer. “But it didn’t _really_.” She puts her hand on Jensen’s chest, to where his heart’s beating, a little bit faster, skittish, beneath the ironed, soft perfection of his shirt. “Did it, Jen?”

He draws the full flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth, looks away. Admitting guilt louder than if he yelled.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

His gaze sweeps back to her quickly, insistent. “Nothing happened. I swear, nothing but--” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looks down at the pattern on the carpet beneath him. “What you saw that day.”

The night before their wedding; Jensen’s bachelor party. The closest of his friends, guitars and whiskey, melancholy. And Jared. The last kiss of an unmarried man, free yet; less of guilt, more regrets. She wasn’t supposed to see that, them, but at the same time, she was almost convinced he wanted her to see it. The kiss was slow, tender, unhurried. Until then she thought it was only sex, loneliness that dragged from early seasons, and want. But he made her see that it was more, far more than what she was prepared for… Pulling from the kiss, Jensen stepped back and out of Jared’s arms, reluctant. When he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of Jared’s face, Jared leaned down to kiss the inner side of Jensen’s wrist, whispering into his skin something she couldn’t hear. And perhaps it was for the best.

She knows he loves her; he never gave her any reasons to doubt that. But she keeps on wondering if it’s enough. When she knows that he loves _him_ more.

“I know. I believe you.”

“So--” Jensen’s voice cracks, completely disappears for a few long seconds. “So what do you want me to do?”

She turns away from him, for a moment, staring out the window at the night skyline of Santa Monica. Rushed. Colorful. So distant and oblivious to the war playing out inside of her mind. “Talk to him.” She meets his gaze again, wanting to see the shock on his face, the acidic feel the one particular word leaves on his skin. “Fuck him, if you want.”

Jensen opens his mouth, but no word comes out, not a sound. He blinks, perplexed. “Wha-at?!” Somehow he makes it sound like both a question and an exclamation. “Danneel, you… You can’t be serious, I love you!”

“I don’t doubt it,” she assures him. “But I can’t keep on waiting for it to happen. Every time we make love… I’m expecting you to cry out his name. Each night you spend up there, I'm imagining you with him. Call me crazy, but… The waiting, the imagining is worse than knowing it’s happening.”

“But what if… What if you’re preparing for something that’s _not_ gonna happen?” Jensen inquires softly, almost hopeful.

“Can you really swear it won’t?” She hates the weakness in her voice, the pleading tone in there. _Please, say it. Swear_.

“It’s been four years. He’s got a family, and so do I. You and JJ mean the world to me.”

She touches his face lightly, splays her fingers over his unshaven cheek. He leans into her touch, automatically, involuntary, closing his eyes, however briefly. “I know that. But all of that… Jared is still a part of it. Whether you want it or not.” She pulls away from him, wraps her arms around herself. “So I’m thinking… Be with him, when you’re not with me. You’ve got my permission.”

“No.” It’s short, solid. He’s looking at her as if he thought she’s just lost her mind. She thinks, maybe he’s right. She doesn’t want to share him, he’s hers, officially, but he’s not, not really, and she feels like she’s losing a piece of him each day she keeps him away from Jared. And that one day, there’ll be nothing left for her.

“Would it be easier if you knew that Genevieve agreed, too?”

“You talked to Genevieve about… Jared. U-us?”

“Of course I did.” Many times.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, hesitant, soft. Jensen jumps anyway.

She follows the sound with her eyes, staring at the white, polished wood two rooms away, realizing that this is it. “That’s probably him.”

“What?! W-who?”

“Jared, of course.”

“Excuse me?!”

Danneel turns to look back at Jensen; the incredulous expression in his eyes somewhat simultaneously startling and cute. He looks both angry and hurt, betrayed. She sighs, then pulls up onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his, warm, soft, so unfairly, temptingly full. “Bye.”

She walks over to open the door for Jared, finds him standing at the doorstep, still in suit and wearing the same shade of white in his face as Jensen.

“Talk,” she tells him. “Or… whatever. I’m going out.” _To get drunk, probably_.

She passes Jared on her way out, hears Jensen’s voice calling after her into the hallway, the urgent, “Danneel, wait!” She ignores it.

 

Half an hour later, they’re still standing at the opposite ends of the hotel living room, not looking at each other and not knowing what to say, or do.

For years, they’ve been walking around each other, afraid of touches, lingering looks, of stepping too close, and it was hard. The rhythm of their show, the emotive flow of it alone, emotions that tend to spread, to spill and mix, turn everything inside out often getting the better of them. And now, when he’s got the permission to step forward and go on until he’s close enough to touch, to kiss, to get him naked and make love to him as he had wanted for too damn long, Jared’s not sure he’s even allowed to do that.

Jensen is still leaning against the window sill where he’s more or less slumped the moment the door closed behind his wife, eyes wide, shocked, his breathing low, but fast. He’s still wearing his suit, parts of it anyway, as the bowtie is gone, just like the jacket, buttons undone. The tails of his shirt are pulled out of his pants, falling over his hands in the pockets, the polished shoes kicked off by the door. Somehow he looks more like Dean, which might be the anger, the tight set of his jaw. Just the reasons behind his rage are different than the Winchester’s, easier. And yet not.

“I… don’t believe this is happening,” he states, addressing no one in particular, certainly not Jared, because he’s not looking at him, hasn’t looked at him once.

“You look… gorgeous,” Jared says, knowing well enough that this is not the right thing to say, definitely not what Jensen wants to hear. Saying it anyway. “Wanted to tell you the whole night.”

“I need a drink,” Jensen decides, nodding to himself as he walks over to the minibar. “You want something, too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why not.”

Jensen pours them both some incredibly expensively looking scotch, some brand Jared’s not sure he even heard of, and when he hands him the glass, their fingers brush. It’s like a current of electricity, a bolt of want-ache that sizzles down Jared’s spine, both shocking and familiar. Genevieve wasn’t wrong, neither was Danneel. It’s there, just like it’s always been. Like an undertow.

Jensen jerks his hand back, immediately, takes a few steps away from Jared, so transparent. He empties his drink in one swift go, then winces as the liquid burns its way down his throat. “So, uhm… they expect us to fuck now or what?”

Jared takes a sip from his glass, then sets it down on the vanity table near the door. He dares two steps in Jensen’s direction, then a few more when Jensen shows no indication of stopping him or running away. Putting his hand on Jensen’s arm, he wraps his fingers around the hard bone of his elbow, tugging him closer. “And would it really be that unimaginable?”

“Oh, don’t start. Not you, too.”

“All I’m saying is… we’ve got permission to be together. They both think that that’s exactly what’s happening right now. I want you, that never changed. You want me, I know that. So… why not?”

Jensen jerks his arm free, furious, angry with everyone, now with Jared, too. When he slams his empty glass onto the coffee table, Jared is surprised it doesn’t break. “Maybe just because that’s what they think! Because they know! You don’t think that’s a ‘little bit’ sick?!”

“A little, yeah. I guess.”

“Wait… You’re okay with this? How come you’re so calm about it?”

Jared shrugs. “I guess I… had the time to kind of… _adjust_ to that idea?”

“Time?” Jensen repeats, catching on the last word Jared would want him to. “How much _time_ … exactly?”

“A… few months? This topic isn’t exactly news in our household.”

“Oh, great! Well, that makes it all good then. Right?”

“I didn’t say that. Look, why… Why are you so angry? I thought you… I don’t know, maybe...” He trails off, not really knowing how to go on, disappointment clouding his better judgment. It’s stupid, childish, maybe, but Jensen’s open aversion against that notion hurts, even though he should have known. Knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t agree with this, not right away at least. “Never mind.”

Jensen chuckles, but it’s bitter, resigned. He shakes his head, runs a hand over his face, then drops down on the closest chair heavily, straddling it. Resting his chin on the backrest of it, he looks up at Jared, tired, still astounded. “This is wrong, Jare.”

“So that’s a no then.”

“No. I mean, yes… That’s a no.” He sounds sad, though, regretful.

“Okay... I, uhm… I think I’ll go then. Good night.” It’s not supposed to hurt, not that damn much.

 

He reaches for the doorknob, fingers curling around the polished brass, when Jensen’s hand, cold, damp, lands on his wrist. “Jared, wait. Please, I…” He stops again, looking absolutely hopeless, helpless. Torn.

It’s the disappointment, mostly, probably. Frustration, Jensen’s belief that this is incredibly wrong, no matter what he truly feels, the fact his ‘No’ crushes even the tiniest particle of Jared’s hope. Whatever it is, something snaps.

Before he’s even aware that he’s moving, Jared grabs Jensen by the shoulders and spins them around, pressing him against the closed door, pinning him there with his own body. Jensen gasps, startled, breathless for a wholly different reason. Jared’s strength used to be a turn on, the few stupid, unimportant pounds and inches he’s got above him making a huge difference when he wanted to. Holding him there, he nudges a knee in between Jensen’s thighs, drawing a gasp out of them both, feels the rasp of the fabric of their pants. He leans down and presses his lips to the soft, delicate skin of Jensen’s earlobe, bites, elicits a shiver that rockets through every bone of the body beneath his. “Would this make it easier for you? If I… _made_ you? You know I can.” Every freckled sensitive spot, each secret erogenous zone, he’s mapped them all.

Jensen’s eyes are huge, a mossy shade of green, burning, not scared, his lips dark pink, worried, almost bitten through. He swallows thickly, his heart thundering, pulsing in the tensed artery in his throat, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I can’t. I… can’t.” He steps aside, moving out of Jared’s hold, and he lets him. “I spent years holding back,” he says lowly, trailing his fingers mindlessly over the sleek wood of the doorframe. “I cannot just… reverse that way of thinking. I can’t just throw all my promises out the window because they suddenly say I can.”

“And if the suddenly wasn’t so… _sudden_. Would there be a _maybe_? Maybe?” _Are we just a matter of time?_

Jensen scratches at his eyebrow, spreads out his arms, clueless. “Maybe?”

“Jen… I know that this is weird. That this isn’t all right, but maybe it can be good? Maybe we can make it work. Somehow.” He touches his hand to Jensen’s face; fingers curling beneath his chin, making him look up, guiding him closer. “I miss you.” He presses his mouth to Jensen’s, covering his lips, hot and trembling, with his own, nudging them gently apart.

Jensen sighs, that kind of a hitching sound, involuntary and betraying, and he reaches for Jared, undoubtedly wanting to push him away, but ends up gripping the sleeve of Jared’s shirt instead, holding him in place. He parts his lips, allowing Jared’s tongue in, curious, hungry, lets Jared press him back against the door; the gesture of surrender melting all of Jared’s pathetic attempts at holding back. Jensen tastes of overprized whiskey and a cheap peppermint chewing gum, of all the wrongness in this, the innocence of their relationship of before. _Before_. And it’s amazing to just feel him again, that close, but it’s not enough, one kiss never was.

Jared sets his hands on Jensen’s hips, gripping tight, almost hard enough to bruise, and Jensen moans, pressing himself further into him, the hand coming to rest at the back of Jared’s neck suddenly warm, almost too much. Jared’s palm wanders, on its own somehow, between their bodies and over the taut muscles of Jensen’s stomach lower. When his fingers curl around the single button on Jensen’s pants, a hand comes up to cover his, stopping him.

Jensen breaks the kiss with a light bite to Jared’s lower lip and pulls away, his head thudding against the wood behind him. “No-not here. Not… like this.” He’s breathless, flushed, there are tiny drops of sweat glistening on his temples, his throat. He’s absolutely gorgeous.

Jared nods, silently agreeing, accepting all of Jensen’s unspoken rules and boundaries. Hopes that it means some other place, some other time. That the maybe is more of a yes and less the previous firm no. He follows Jensen’s suit, leans his back against the door, leveling his shoulder with Jensen’s. He studies his profile in the dim light from above them, the perfect line of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip. “So what do we do with the time we have left?” he asks, lifting his hand to press his fingertip against the sharp, hard swell of Jensen’s collarbone bared in the gap of his neckline, then up and over his Adam’s apple.

Jensen turns his head to look at him, eyes warm, no longer hostile or angry, just dark, pupils blown. “How ‘bout a walk? A night walk through Santa Monica.” He nods to himself, evidently amused by that idea alone. “I like the sound of it.”

“Yeah… Man, I’d kill for a burger.”

Jensen chuckles, smiles. “What else is new?” There’s a moment, a minute too long when he’s just staring at Jared, regarding him, expression unreadable, words none. Then, “You looked amazing tonight, by the way.”


	2. Give Me Love Like Her, 'Cause Lately I've Been Waking Up Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s standing by the window, quiet as the night itself and more beautiful than Jared remembers him. Partly dressed in light and partly covered in darkness. Jared thinks, oddly, that it’s pretty much how he’s been always seeing Jensen. Just partly..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Ed Sheeran

There are snowflakes melting on the fringe of Jensen’s lashes, and water on his mouth. There’s something sad in his eyes, partly reluctant and partly just reconciled, as he stands there at the threshold of Jared’s condo, the hood of his sweatshirt falling across his forehead, the laces on his combat boots untied, drenched and dirty.

Jared knows there’s a disaster just waiting to happen, every day they meet like this. Each night he opens the door to find him standing there, hesitating and waiting, his guilt so evident it’s almost tangible, but here, still.

Jensen’s standing in the middle of Jared’s living room, impatient and uncomfortable, pale in the contrast with the raw red bricks of the wall behind him. He’s quiet, unmoving. There’s this strange darkness in his gaze, both Jensen’s own – reproofs and want – and Dean’s. His pain and secrets, all the dark paths that Jensen’s walked with him and cannot quite shake off. It’s almost petrifying how attractive all of this makes him, along with the dark, tight jeans that Danneel picked, his old Henley, holey in spots, and Dean’s MOC, reckless scruff. Years older than when they had fallen into this mess of love and _no_ and _yes_ and _can’t_ , but no less beautiful. He watches Jared watching him, reluctant, like he cannot help himself, his face blank, completely unreadable.

 

It’s a game. A mind game, every time. A battle of patience and will, of giving up and giving in. One that Jared will lose, he knows, tonight, like all the nights before. Drawn in by Jensen’s inviting, predatory silence and stillness, by the frigid heat in his gaze, the _no_ in each of the words he never really says.

Three months; a pattern of quietness, of limited words and movements. Habits; in touching, speaking, moving. Love and lust. And a dose of self-reproaches, shame, heavier than the emptiness that had been there before. Jensen’s, but enough to drag down the both of them.

 

Hands in the back pockets of his jeans, Jensen shrugs, uneasy, when his eyes meet Jared’s, for one time too many. “What?” he asks, voice husky, dripping like poisoned honey. There’s annoyance in his tone, layer after layer, impatience, and a tiny, almost unnoticeable shade of fear, worries. A flavor that Jared’s learned to ignore, deny. It’s somewhat easier that way.

“Nothing,” he smiles. “I’m just looking.”

“At what?”

“At you. I like looking at you.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, shakes his head. His tongue flicks out, just the tip, pink and soft, wetting the corner of his mouth. “You plan on doing it all night?”

“I could.” Jared pulls from the door where he spent the last ten minutes just standing, wanting to yield, and, equally, drag this evening into forever, a few hours, at least, and steps towards Jensen.

Jensen doesn’t move, he doesn’t back up a step, but he looks like he wants to. He always does, torn between staying and running, unable to decide. Incapable of choosing one or the other, or focusing on only one of them. She’s there, every night, in every single touch. Like a shadow, an unwanted visitor. Jared wonders, sometimes, if she can feel him, too, when Jensen touches her, when they make love. If she, maybe, likes the forbidden touch of wrong there, a little bit too.

Putting his hand on Jensen’s hip, seeking naked skin, Jared pushes him towards the wall, guides him there, really; smoothly, unforced, his lips bare inches from Jensen’s. He can feel the heat of Jensen’s body, the subtle hint of cologne and sweat, enticing, arousing. So comfortably familiar. “But you wouldn’t let me. Would you?”

 

Just a few hours, sometimes even less, never more. Jensen is like Cinderella who disappears when the clock strikes midnight. Camouflages, disguises, and charming, colorful tricks that dissipate. Eventually. Always. Masks get torn, colors fade, magic evaporates. Then there’s only a man beneath; wounded, vulnerable. Running.

There are days when Jared feels like he’s hiring a prostitute. Just that dirty and low, completely void. Only, he doesn’t pay (though, maybe if he did, he could make him stay), and Jensen is far from a stranger with a faked name and questionable history. He’s also much more than he’s willing to show, or give, at times like these.

 

Jensen’s silence, the way he’s looking up at Jared; his eyes a tired, bottle shade of green, lips slightly parted, something like remorse mingled with restiveness in his gaze, the no-answer answer… it is an answer, too. And the only one Jared will get.

 

Jensen is good with silent answers. He’s always been excellent at saying everything without saying a word, and during the last few weeks, he’s mastered this talent to perfection. He doesn’t want to talk. He’s not here to _talk_ , and Jared has learned, by watching Jensen leave, too many times, that there’s no point in wasting their limited time with one-sided conversations. After all, when he opened the door and let him in, it wasn’t because he wanted to talk.

Every day, they spend hours talking, on the camera, behind. They spent years just talking, keeping distance. This is different. Here, words are just a bonus, an unnecessary luxury. They have sex in silence, they move, communicate without words. Jensen’s departure is always painfully quiet. They have managed to turn their friendship-relationship into deafening silence, and Jared is certain that it’s heading towards a painful crash, but he doesn’t know how to avert it, how to stop. He’s not even sure he really wants to change it, because words could break this, _them_. Too many words might chase Jensen away, and Jared cannot let him go. Not again.

 

Jared gathers a handful of Jensen’s shirt, the soft-worn material of his Henley, and drags him resolutely closer, surrendering. Jensen stumbles forward, too easily, his eyes dark and firmly locked on Jared’s lips, his mouth partly open, full of unvoiced objections. His breath hits Jared’s face, hot and heavy, filled with desire and unmade promises, and with the undertow of vigilance and hesitation.

 

There’s a part of him that wants to fight this, every damn time. Maybe a smaller portion of his mind, of him, but not weaker. Although he’s here for that one single reason, so evident to all of them, he’s still not quite okay with this. Jared thinks he never really will be.

After the Critics’ Choice Movie Awards event, after Danneel’s proposition and their little misstep, Jensen spent days just walking around Jared, saying no more than he needed to and keeping distance, even more obvious than before. It was unnerving, terrifying. Jared was sure that Jensen’s answer would still be _no_ , final and solid, and – as if that alone wouldn’t hurt enough – that his silence would tear them apart. For good.

 

It was one night at a bar, a few beers, and two shots of Jack, when Jensen’s words started to speak louder than his quietness.

“Maybe we should have asked Clif to come with,” he noted, his chin propped up on his forearm, eyes tracking the lazy swirl of the brown liquid inside his glass in his other hand. “Or Misha. Or… someone.”

It stung. It _hurt_. “You are _that_ scared to be alone with me.”

Jensen looked up, head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes finding Jared’s, a notch darker and full of everything that Jared thought Jensen would rather hide. “It’s not you I’m scared of.” He got up then, steady, seemingly sober all of a sudden. “I should go.”

“Jens--”

Jensen left, but he didn’t get far. Jared found him crouched by the wall, masked by shadows and the neon lights of the bar, the glowing end of a cigarette dancing around his fingers like a lost firefly. The first cigarette in months, maybe years.

“Do you believe… in hell?” Jensen asked as he pulled himself up, taking three, four steps towards Jared. There was something unsettling in his gaze, openly careworn, tired. Scared. All of his worries and beliefs, all that he had been taught wrapped into one uncomfortable package of a question.

“Only in the one inside of us,” Jared replied as he broke the distance between them completely, leaving just enough room for them to breathe. “In consciousness. And guilt… I don’t believe in Him, not like you do.”

Jensen nodded at that, looking even more torn than before. He stepped back again and took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke up to the starless sky above. “I don’t know what I believe in. Not anymore.”

And there it was, the tiny lines of doubt, like a spider web of cracks in certainty. In Jensen’s conviction, his belief. All he needed was… a little push.

“Jensen…”

Jensen stared at Jared, measuring him, tempting him. “The more I’m trying to say no… the more I feel like saying yes.”

“Then say yes.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“But aren’t you the only one who sees it that complicated? Danneel, she… You know, she would never agree if she wasn’t sure she can handle it.”

Jensen dusted off the ash of his cigarette with the pad of his thumb, then dropped the unfinished piece to the ground, crushing it with the tip off his boot. “But what if she agreed only because she thought that it would happen anyway?”

Jared stepped closer, tasting the smoke in the air in between them. “But we both know that it wouldn’t happen. Don’t we? That you’d _never_ let it happen.” _Not without her consent_. 

There was just a fraction of defeat, of resignation, but it was enough.

The kiss tasted of beer and scotch and nicotine, and the scent of relief escaping on a soft sigh.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper, a plea for more nights like this, for shorter periods in between them.

Jensen nods, once. Something in his eyes flickers, the sorrow in there getting even more captivating. He takes a breath, licks his lips. There’s a ‘Me too’ just wanting to slip, a confession, fragile and bare, a little too honest to really happen.

Jared wants to hear it, just once, but words don’t really matter. Not when there is Jensen’s mouth, soft and almost too warm, so close to Jared’s own. His hands, at his sides, undecided, waiting. So willing, prepared to yield, but not.

All these nights, every time, he waits. For Jared to break, to snap, to take the first step, or more. He caves in, always, in the end, and he takes, demands, gives everything he’s got. But he _can’t_ be the first to move.

He is a temptation when he’s far, up close, he’s a fire. An unavoidable car wreck. Everything he does, every kiss, touch, movement, there’s passion in there, attentiveness that disperses Jared’s being into burning molecules.

Even now, pressed to the wall, and pressing himself to Jared, he’s like the personification of sin. His lips are open beneath Jared’s, smooth and hot and moist, his tongue teasing, flirting with Jared’s, then withdrawing, making him blindly follow. His hands, sliding down Jared’s chest, leave a trail of slow want in their wake, much darker and insistent when his fingertips brush the inch of exposed skin of Jared’s stomach.

“C’mon,” he says, impatience lacing his tone, his fingers fighting with the belt on Jared’s jeans, almost unable to move. Blanketed by Jared’s bigger body and want, Jared’s knee pushed in between his thighs, his fingers gripping Jensen’s shirt at the sides tight enough to tug it partly off his shoulder.

Jared looks down at Jensen’s hands, pale, long fingers and freckles, at the untanned line on his ring finger that says so much more than Jensen ever will. The necklace hanging on his neck, all the beads, chains and leather cords on his wrists are there, everything, except for his wedding ring. He never wears it, not here. As if cheating was easier without it. And it’s just another thing, another detail driving Jared insane.

He doesn’t space out for long, it’s seconds, no more, but still enough for Jensen to notice, to pause. He glances up, regarding Jared through thick lashes, full lips swollen, toned to bruised pink. “Jay?”

Jared puts his hands on Jensen’s, fingers wrapped around Jensen’s wrists, holding him there. Because he knows he’ll try to run.

“Stay.”

Jensen cocks his head to the side slightly, confused. “I am… here,” he notes.

“Now,” Jared corrects softly. “But how long are you actually planning to stay tonight? An hour? Or two? Just long enough for one quick fucking session between you coming over here and leaving again?”

Jensen looks away, quickly, unhappy; he doesn’t like the word. _Fucking_. So dirty and cheap. Jared doesn’t know a word that would describe this better.

Jensen makes to wrench his hands free and, after a minute more, Jared lets him. Jensen moves away, immediately, walks over to the window and puts his hand on the window frame, head bowed. Jared watches him, his face reflected in the glass, slightly blurred and warped. Jensen doesn’t look happy, but not taken by surprise either. Jared thinks, maybe he’s been expecting this all along, maybe just earlier, and willing it away. He _had to_ know that this was coming.

He could stay, every night, it wouldn’t change a thing. The girls know, both of them think that that’s how this works. But this is easier. To run, from Jared, from all of this. To run and pretend that it doesn’t matter, it’s just sex. Flesh and lust, nature, nothing deeper, nothing more serious. Staying just long enough to let it happen, and then pretend. Pretend and deny.

“Look, I… I know that this is weird,” Jared starts, hesitantly, sitting down at the edge of the coffee table, a few feet away from where Jensen’s standing. He’s not looking at him, stares at his hands instead, trembling with unfading desire, wanting to touch, caress. “That it goes basically against everything you believe in. Everything you promised. To her. To yourself. But… in spite of all that, you’re here. And every time you leave, I let you go. Because I don’t wanna lose this. Or you. I’m… trying to be grateful for the hour or two you’re willing to stay, but…” He looks up, meeting Jensen’s eyes through the window. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want more. Because I do. And I’m not talking rings or common vacation in Maui… just a few more hours. One whole night with you.”

Everything about Jensen’s posture, the tight set of his jaw, his fingers digging into the wooden window frame, his posture, rigid, guarded, says no. Jared doesn’t know what it is, what’s holding him from running, again, keeping him here, but whatever it is, it’s strong. Because what Jensen really says, is, “Okay.”

But, sometimes, a promise is unpleasantly far from an act, from reality.

Jared is still rather dazed from his orgasm, rivulets of sweat tripping down his skin, hair plastered to his forehead and mouth, a deafening echo of his own heartbeat pulsing in his temples. But Jensen is already up, jeans on. He’s standing by the window, quiet as the night itself and more beautiful than Jared remembers him. Partly dressed in light and partly covered in darkness. Jared thinks, oddly, that it’s pretty much how he’s been always seeing Jensen. Just partly.

He props himself up on his elbows, watching Jensen with some kind of cold resignation. He desperately wishes he could be surprised. He’s angry, disappointed, feeling, again, the painful sense of emptiness creeping its way onto his chest, but not surprised.

“You can run all you want right after. But it won’t make it any less real.”

Jensen sighs and stops, ends up with his shirt hanging off one arm like something dead, and leans heavily against the wall. Resigned. Hips canted forward, jutting hipbones and the flat plains of his stomach; whole body like a sinful invitation. He’s really thin, disturbingly so, more slender than Jared’s ever seen him. Jared can already feel the bruises from hard bones forming on his skin. Jensen leaves strangely shaped ones, Jared fingerprints.

“It’s not like that,” Jensen objects subtly. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, runs a hand over his face. He looks tired, exhausted even.

Jared sits up, hands draped over his knees, clueless, vacant. “Then how?”

Jensen looks down at him, for a moment, too brief, then at the expensive carpet under his bare feet. He doesn’t say _how_ , he doesn’t say a word.

“Why? Because fucking is good – just physical, natural, but staying for the night is just too much? Too… _involved_? Real? You agreed to this. You struggled, I know that, but you… agreed. Yet all you’ve been doing ever since is running… Why?!”

There’s silence, a long, endless moment of quietness that makes Jared want to scream. Yell. Break something just to burst the growing bubble of it.

Then, “Because I love you,” Jensen tells the window. It’s so soft, so quiet Jared thinks he’s hearing wrong.

“What?” He didn’t mean to, but he’s whispering, too.

Jensen looks at him, eyes shadowed, his whole face protected by shadows. “Because I love you.” Somehow, he makes it sound both like an explanation and a reproach. His voice is shaky, so weak it’s probably going to break. “Because every night I leave, I wanna stay. Because every minute that I spend with you makes me realize that I love you… more. And… each time I look her in the eye, I’m sure that she knows that, too. That she’s always known… Because I’m scared that if I ever stop running, I’m gonna lose them both.” He turns his back to Jared, like a skeleton wrapped in sheets, each vertebra visible, shoulder blades hard and fragile at once, the denim hanging on his hips probably just by a miracle. “That, in the end… you’re all gonna leave.”

Jared doesn’t remember moving, leaving the bed and standing up, he doesn’t recall walking across the room, but suddenly he’s there, arms wrapped around Jensen’s waist, his chin resting on Jensen’s shoulder. “Jen…” Jensen’s skin is still damp, flushed, a few degrees from almost hot, his hair sweaty. Jared presses his lips to the side of Jensen’s neck, kisses the cruel swell of his collarbone. “She’s not gonna leave you. She loves you.”

Jensen chuckles, but it’s not a pretty sound. It’s harsh, dark. “An unfaithful husband? The father of her child who’s more often gone than with them? What’s there to love?”

“You,” Jared replies simply, holding him tighter, crushing Jensen’s whole frame in his massive arms that look even stronger now, enough to hurt. He drops his forehead on Jensen’s shoulder, close to tears he doesn’t want to let fall. “Everything.” One of his hands slides down Jensen’s stomach and lower, stopping just above the line of his jeans. There, right beside his left hipbone is a black tattoo, just a few weeks old. Small, almost like subtitles, easy to cover up, simple. But poignant, undeniable. Two letters _J_ , done in an old handwriting-style. For Justice. And, _“One of them is yours”_. Jared spreads his fingers over it, possessively, protectively. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s there, and where exactly. “I’m not gonna leave either. I am right here… forever.”

“You left once, too. What should stop you from doing it again?”

“Knowing what a terrible mistake I’ve done. I won’t do it again, I promise… I love you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t. Please.”

“I hate you. You’re the worst person ever.”

This time, the breath that Jensen lets out sounds nearly like a smile.

He doesn’t stay for the night anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ed Sheeran


End file.
